


then i go and spoil it all

by shepromisestheearth



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Oblivious James T. Kirk, birthday shenanigans, matchmaker uhura, no betas we die like men, something stupid just. vibes, song fic? kinda?, spock is in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29098422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepromisestheearth/pseuds/shepromisestheearth
Summary: Kirk’s birthday, and Spock’s attempt to kill two birds with one stone.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	then i go and spoil it all

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit!!!! Not to be one of the thousand voices repeating how terrible this pandemic has been, but boy did it zap my want to write. She really tried to kill my love for this franchise, too. I haven’t written in some time, so forgive the terribleness, but it is something I would like to get back into, and posting may help with that.  
> Enjoy!

This new Enterprise had threatened to choke Spock. Following his tenure with Pike, he expected quiet; instead finding himself in a realm of arm waving and welcoming as if he were a Terran schoolboy at a lunch table. There was that human anomaly of small talk in the hallway, of laughter in break rooms and comedy shows in the lounges, of holiday parties full of things he couldn’t eat and paper cutouts and gift exchanges. 

The Captain’s birthday was in one week. 

His hand had found Spock’s alone in a hallway, and he asked if the first officer might join him for chess. Ordinarily, he may have found some exit, some refusal that would make the Captain nod curtly and bid him goodnight. He found himself rarely falling to human devices of smiles and warm hazel eyes and tucking chins into chests. When he said yes he said it with rasp, like some other voice had taken hold of him and squeezed him of an answer. And for months now it was routine. Seven days would pass in the tradition of Spock and Kirk’s respective god things and despite all the universe that fell apart around them, Kirk would open his door to him. Despite his haggard expression, his straw colored hair pushed up on one side. It was always chess, and it was always quiet. 

Uhura had assigned herself and Spock to plan the party. One of the lounges had been devoted to the celebration, with shears and colored paper and pens they would form into planets and stars. Paper folding was a practice on Vulcan that Uhura was familiar with, and they hung them from the ceiling. It was a little boy’s decorations, for a little boy’s dreams- it made Uhura laugh, as she discussed mostly to herself the foods that would be offered, drinks and such. 

When Spock finally made his proposition, Uhura nodded in excitement and asked him to get his lyre. Once they had finished the construction of Kirk’s universe, they set to filling it with music, Spock’s fingers against strings and Uhura’s voice sending chills down his spine. 

It was their first birthday together, Spock finding himself on that stage before his colleagues. Uhura, at his side, kept her hand on his knee, cloaked by a robe. Her fingernails, painted with mirrored finish, reflected five of his own faces against him, his lips pulled down and his brow pushed back. 

A silence fell across the room after someone had shouted that the Captain was on his way, led on as there being some medical emergency on deck. And so he showed, utterly unprepared in his working clothes, when those who loved him shouted human things at him and tossed their hands in his direction. The worn expression lingered no more, thrown into a cacophony of laughter and love that Spock knew he could never know. 

The Captain’s eyes fell upon him, the hands that swaddled the lyre. And with the Captain’s silence came that of the party’s, as he eased himself into a chair just at the edge of the stage. Around his feet were glossy, wrapped packages and by his elbow a drink and food. His eyes would not leave his face. He could’ve throttled him at this distance.

They began to play, the first notes echoing out against that expanse of paper universe populated by real people. Though it’s just a line to you, for me it’s true and never seemed so right before… Uhura stood and took the Captain’s hand as she sang to him, allowing his lips to press her knuckles. Watching on, he felt his throat grow sticky, his sung notes growing quieter until they reached the song’s conclusion. Applause, he found, was too loud, and allowed himself to be forgotten as the events of the evening unfurled. The Terran song seemed to have ill-complimented the strings of his instrument, ducking into a corner as he ran wax against its strings. 

“Hey.” 

He drew up his head, draping himself like curtains against the wall; the pads of his fingers continued against the strings, as he met eyes with his superior officer. Glancing behind him, he found that they were the only two left in the lounge, save the decorations that now swung with the momentum of the ship mirthlessly. 

The Captain, squatting, had a grin on his face that reached from ear to ear, his cheeks flushed with some amount of drunkenness the Vulcan could not ascertain. Hand hot against his shoulder now, “That was a lovely performance, Mr. Spock. Uhura told me it was of your conception.”

“Yes, Captain. You should leave me to tidy the room now, you have had an eventful evening.” Spock murmured, as the two of them stood. 

“Why, Mr. Spock.” Kirk said, somewhat incredulously, “We have chess tonight. Tidying can wait.” 

“You are not too tired?” Spock raised an eyebrow. 

Kirk shook his head and tucked his hands into his pockets, with a dry laugh, “I’ve been looking forward to it all evening. You wouldn’t want to spoil my birthday, would you?” 

“Jim.” 

His voice came hoarse again, though he had barely spoken since the song itself. It always rawed in attempts to say his name, a name so human, so simple, so full of admiration and a thousand other things Spock would not allow himself to feel. 

“You haven’t spoiled anything, Spock.” Kirk whispered in his ear, his warm hand on Spock’s arm, “If that’s what you’ve thought- you couldn’t spoil the way I feel about you if you wanted to.” 

Spock nodded, for that’s all he could do. He did not have words, or understanding of emotion to do anything more. But this seemed to be sufficient for Kirk, as he threaded his fingers through the Vulcan’s and squeezed tight. And by his hand he lead him to his quarters, where he would be the one delivering the lines, and Spock would be the one to decide, as it were, if they were condemnable.


End file.
